The Vacation Affair
by Italian writer
Summary: Can vacations be dangerous? Very much so, when you are spending them with an active UNCLE agent. This story picks up from my other story "The Explosive Affair", and deals with 15-year later Illya and Napoleon.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

A soft, warm breeze ruffled a lock of blond hair on the forehead of a very contented Illya Kuryakin. A gentle hand delicately brushed it back, and a soft voice whispered in his ear:

"You look like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary!"

The Russian turned his head to look into the astounding green eyes of Stephanie, his very attractive partner, whom he met 4 months before and who was now recovering from a very serious explosion that hurt her very badly during one of her missions as an active UNCLE agent.

Kuryakin had taken her on a much deserved long vacation, hoping not only to remove her from danger – at least momentarily – but also to have a chance to discuss his feelings, which were growing at an alarming rate and demanded some action from him. He soon discovered that they were reciprocated, and that discovery led to many passionate nights for the couple in their luxurious hotel, on a small Caribbean island.

He spoke in soft tones: "I was thinking that this vacation looks a lot like a honeymoon."

She flashed a dimpled smile at him: "Does that upset you?"

"On the contrary: I am thoroughly enjoying it!"

"Probably because it's not a real honeymoon…"

The Russian did not respond to her teasing comment, thinking that maybe, just maybe…

His thoughts were interrupted by an annoying beep coming from Stephanie's wristwatch. They moaned in unison: "Oh, no!"

When she opened the contact, Sir John Raleigh's voice came out of the communication device concealed in the ordinary-looking watch.

"Good morning, Miss Rogers! I trust you are enjoying your vacation?"

The woman thought 'I was', but aloud she said: "Yes, Sir John, quite so."

Meanwhile, Kuryakin was mumbling: "I really don't think he's calling you to ask about your vacation. He's calling to put an end to it."

Stephanie shushed him with a glare, and listened to her boss, who said in his imperturbable British accent: "I heard you, Mr. Kuryakin! Alas, you're right, but only in part. Miss Rogers, I called to ask you to make a very brief break from your holiday and carry out a small task for the agency. You won't even need to leave the island."

"Certainly, sir. What do you need me to do?" The Russian rolled his eyes at the woman's subdued tone.

"I need you to pick up a parcel from one of our deliverymen."

"And what I am to do with the parcel?"

"You can throw it in the garbage bin."

Stephanie and Illya looked at each other with a questioning gaze. "Pardon?"

Sir John's calm voice explained: " You see, it's just a test for the deliveryman. We need to make sure of his loyalty to the agency. He will be lured into selling the package to the competition by an alleged enemy agent; if he doesn't and delivers the package to you, then we will know we can entrust him with real deliveries."

The woman asked: "How will I know it's the original package?"

"Very good question, Stephanie! I'm glad your vacation isn't clouding your judgment. The original package will have a concealed device emitting a signal that your watch should be able to pick up. Be ready to be contacted by our man tomorrow morning."

The connection was cut off. Stephanie mumbled: "And a good day to you, sir!"

The Russian dryly commented: "He's not a very talkative man, your boss. And you certainly did not bite his head off for interrupting your vacation, did you?"

The woman just looked at him with a barely disguised smile, and asked: "Would you have bitten Mr. Waverly's head off for asking you a small favor?"

Affectionately thinking back at the utmost respect he felt for the late lamented UNCLE chief, Kuryakin had to admit that he would have reacted the same exact way.

Reaching from his deckchair, he snuggled in Stephanie's neck, softly whispering: "Well, we have until tomorrow morning. What do you say we stop talking about our mutual bosses and start discussing about what you want to do tonight?"

She smiled seductively at the handsome blond. "You know very well what I want to do, Mr. Kuryakin!"

He started planting featherlike kisses on her collarbone. "If it's the same plan I have in mind, then I'm in!"

When their lips met, he thought that he could never have enough of her kisses, which always sent his mind reeling. That funny feeling kept surfacing in his mind; maybe, just maybe…


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

The morning after, while they were having breakfast at the hotel's beautiful seafront terrace, a young man in his twenties unceremoniously grabbed a chair and sat down, without bothering to ask for permission. He simply asked: "Are you Stephanie?"

At the woman's nod, he promptly extracted a small package from his jacket and furtively handled it to her under the table, then quietly added: "Give my regards to Sir John." Then he was gone, as swiftly as he had arrived.

Kuryakin commented dryly, while generously spreading his bread with the local jam: "He's as talkative as your boss. The two of them must get along beautifully."

Stephanie could not suppress a chuckle and a witty remark: "Are you really complaining about somebody being taciturn?"

Illya pretended not to hear her, and asked instead: " Is your watch picking up the package's signal?"

Stephanie checked her watch, surreptitiously keeping the package under the table. The receiver hidden in the watch beeped once and a green light flashed on the device.

"Yes. Everything seems to be in order. We can take our time and finish our breakfast."

The Russian shook his head. "I cannot relax while you are holding an unknown package. I'd rather proceed to discard it, as per Sir John's orders."

The woman opened her eyes wide. "What, you are not curious to know what's inside?"

Kuryakin tutted: "Curiosity killed the cat. Especially in our business. You should follow your orders and not mess around with that package."

She commented: "Mmh, do you think this is a test for me, too?"

He smiled. "Possibly. They used to test us all the time, back then."

She conceded: "All right, then, I'll follow your advice. After all, you have _a lot_ of experience as an active agent."

She stood, concealing the package in her blouse, and excused herself. She went to the lady's room and threw the small parcel in the paper towel bin. Then she moved into one of the cubicles and spoke softly in her communicator: "Open channel D, please. This is Eaglet four. Tell Mother Eagle that the egg has been safely received and disposed of. Out."

When she was back, the Russian had finished breakfast and was eager to resume his vacation. "Shall we go swimming, Steph?"

She happily agreed and promptly forgot about Sir John, the agency and the parcel.

After a whole day spent at the beach, the two agents decided to retire into their room to get dressed for dinner, but they were stopped short in their tracks by an ambulance and a police car, sirens blasting and strobe lights flashing, as they skidded to a halt in front of their hotel.

Kuryakin asked the concierge about all the fuss.

"Oh, a terrible thing, sir, terrible! A young man has been found dead in our laundry room. Murdered! Such a damage for our hotel, sir! And for the poor young man, of course." he added, as an afterthought.

The Russian commented: "Yes, I'm sure it was quite damaging for him, too. Who was the young man?"

"Nobody knows. He wasn't wearing any ID. The police will have to find out. Oh, this is going to be such a blow to the hotel's image…"

Quickly dismissing the rather insensible concierge, Illya told Stephanie: "I have a very bad feeling about this incident, Steph."

Then, almost as she were reading his mind, she asked: "You're not thinking what I'm thinking, are you?"

"That the murdered young man is the agency's deliveryman? Quite so."

Glumly, the couple watched as the body was being carried onto the ambulance on a stretcher. They both recognized the dead man immediately. It was indeed the young man carrying the agency's package.

Stephanie was stricken. "That poor boy! He looked so young! Why was he killed, Illya? Do you think it has something to do with the package?"

"It has to. I don't believe in coincidences. We must recover the parcel at once. Now we are entitled to be curious."

Stephanie rushed into the restaurant's lady's room and unceremoniously poured the garbage can's content on the floor. She drew a sigh of relief when she found was she was looking for.

Then the couple went to inspect the package's content in the privacy of their room. But when they opened the door, they were confronted with an upsetting sight; their room had been rummaged. All the drawers were flung open, their contents disorderly scattered on the floor; the closet had followed the same fate. Even the mattress had been searched, the numerous deep cuts showing the inner material.

After a moment of bewilderment, Illya growled in anger: "I'm going to kill him!"

Stephanie didn't know who the Russian's wrath was aimed at. "Who?"

"Sir John! For spoiling our vacation, and for putting you in danger so soon after the Renard affair." Then he started searching among their belongings scattered on the floor. After a while he found what he was looking for.

"Fortunately they haven't taken our passports, although I'm pretty sure they took the time to have a good look at them. Grab your purse and all the money you can find, and let's get out of here. Forget about the luggage."

Still in their beach clothes, they hailed a taxi and headed for the airport, where they bought a ticket for the first flight to New York, due to depart in two hours.

While waiting for their flight, they both went into the small airport's restrooms; Stephanie to the lady's room to update the agency, Illya to the man's room to open the parcel. After making sure the bathroom was empty, Illya filled a basin with water and plunged the small package into the water to defuse any explosives that might have been waiting for an unsuspecting victim. Then he proceeded to unpack it with extreme caution, moving very slowly, and looking out for wires or suspicious ticks.

But the parcel's content was not a booby trap; it turned out to be a small capped vial containing a cloudy liquid. When Stephanie reached him, they both stood transfixed to look at the tiny object inside the box, countless possibilities swirling in their minds.

Shaking off his torpor, Kuryakin put the vial into a pocket, grabbed Stephanie's hand and dragged her out of the restroom. He stopped in front of the duty free shop, saying: "Wait here. Make sure we haven't been followed."

The UNCLE agent surreptitiously watched the few passengers waiting for their flights, but they all checked all right at her expert eye.

When Kuryakin reached her and handed her a metal cigarette holder, she commented: "Since you know very well that I don't smoke, I suppose the vial is inside."

He nodded. "Yes. That's a much safer and sturdier means of transportation. The box is leaded, so its contents won't turn out at the X-ray check."

"Good thinking. Now let's go grab our flight. They have announced that boarding will start in a few minutes."

But they barely had the time to line up, when another announcement raised a chorus of complaints from all the people in line.

"We regret to inform the passengers of United Airlines flight No. 443 to New York that the flight has been cancelled for technical reasons. Please show your tickets at the booth for a refund or to book the next flight, which is due tomorrow evening."

Illya and Stephanie looked at each other, bewildered. She said: "Canceled! Another 'coincidence', no doubt."

Kuryakin agreed with her. "Yes, a coincidence called sabotage. We cannot afford to spend the night at a hotel. I'm sure we have been followed. We are unarmed. Our only hope is to stay in a crowded place. We will have to wait here for the next flight, hoping they won't mess with that, too."

They sat facing away in two different rows of seats, watching each other's back, and getting ready to a long, dangerous night.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

At seven a.m. Illya's head started drooping, just like his eyelids. He felt too old to be deprived of a night's sleep without consequences.

He was even starting to hallucinate, since he could swear that the man that was now approaching him with a big smile on his face was his friend Napoleon.

He also had his same voice. "Boy, I could fit a week's groceries in the bags under your eyes!"

Kuryakin shook his head, refusing to believe what his tired eyes were insisting to see. That man could _not_ be Napoleon Solo. But when his hallucination stopped right in front of him, shaking his head and putting his hands on his hips, he could not deny the evidence.

"Napoleon?! What are you doing here?"

Solo didn't have time to respond, since Stephanie – unlike Illya – had recognized him immediately and had rushed to hug him affectionately.

"Napoleon! Am I glad to see you!"

Solo reciprocated the hug, casting an apologetic look at the Russian for his girlfriend's enthusiasm. Illya knew that Stephanie was very fond of his friend, who was like a legend for her, but his tired mind took its time to suppress the momentary stab of jealousy that he felt.

Not missing his friend's expression, Napoleon sheepishly extricated himself from the hug. "You two look like you could use a few hours' sleep. As well as a lift to New York!"

The Russian said, in a rather stiff voice, "You haven't answered my question, Napoleon: what are you doing here?"

Solo sat beside his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Relax, _tovarish_. You don't have to watch out for me. I'm on your side, remember?"

Kuryakin's attitude finally relaxed at his friend's words. "I'm sorry, Napoleon. I guess that sleep deprivation makes me jumpy."

"It's all right, I understand. Well, to answer your question, I was sent by Sir John, who also believes that your plane's 'technical problems' sound quite fishy, and that you might be in danger here. I came on an UNCLE private jet, which is waiting on the runway to take you back home. There they will have the vial analyzed and we will leave the matter in the agency's capable hands."

The Russian got up rather stiffly, and commented, "Sounds like a plan. Lead the way, Napoleon."

The three friends quickly made their way through the terminal and soon reached the airstrip, where a small Learjet was waiting for them. As soon as they boarded, the plane proceeded to take-off.

During the flight, Illya and Stephanie, still in their beach clothes, changed into a more suitable attire that Napoleon had thoughtfully brought. Holding a much needed cup of coffee and feeling somewhat more refreshed, the Russian had another question for his friend. "Has Sir John told you anything about the possible reasons why a supposedly empty package produced a very nasty looking vial, Napoleon?"

"Hah! You know how that Brit is. He's as tight-lipped as an oyster! I suppose he doesn't like to discuss UNCLE matters with a civilian."

Kuryakin searched for a rational explanation. "But he did send the same civilian to rescue us. And he doesn't even feel like sharing his thoughts with him; how convenient. I'm not going to leave the matter in the agency's hands, Napoleon. I want to know what is going on, and I want to stay at Stephanie's side when her boss assigns her this mission."

Stephanie interjected: "What makes you think I will be assigned this mission, Illya?"

He looked at her fondly. "Experience."

Before the woman had a chance to comment, the plane jerked sideways.

Napoleon exclaimed: "What the hell…?"

The pilot's voice resounded in the cabin: "We are under attack. Buckle up and brace yourselves. I'll have to make some funny maneuvers to shake them off."

He never had a chance to explain who 'them' were, for he plunged the plane into a breathtaking vertical spin that almost knocked the passengers unconscious for the sudden increase of the G force. Only Illya's and Napoleon's old UNCLE training allowed them to withstand the terrible pressure without fainting. Stephanie was younger and fitter, but she was still recuperating from her recent wounds, and she could not endure such a harsh treatment; she passed out with a small groan.

Solo and Kuryakin heard an explosion near the right engine area, and the plane's nose gradually lifted back into horizontal flight. The pilot was clearly trying an emergency landing.

Preparing for the impact, Illya tried to protect Stephanie's limp body, hugging her as much as his buckled-up position allowed him to.

The pilot was able to make an emergency landing on an empty stretch of land, but the crash was devastating. The plane stopped just short of a forest, right before hitting the wall of trees, in a deafening cacophony of torn metal.

Her head was hurting. She smelled smoke, burnt plastic, fuel. She didn't want to open her eyes, but a very soft and somewhat worried voice kept calling her. She knew that voice very well. She loved to hear it so close to her ear. Only, she didn't want to open her eyes, because she knew that she would not like what she would see.

"Stephanie, wake up! Please, honey, you are worrying me."

She didn't want him to worry. Wait: 'him' who? Then a name surfaced in her jumbled thoughts: Illya! Illya is calling me, and he's worried. Why is he worried? Then a second thought hit base: we were under attack! The plane was plunging. What happened? Now she really had to open her eyes.

"Thank God, she's coming to."

Stephanie blinked at the offending light, and the first thing she saw was a pair of baby blue eyes looking worriedly at her. "Illya, what… what happened?"

The Russian gave a relieved sigh, and answered: "The plane crashed. We are in the middle of nowhere. Probably in the US, but we don't know how far from New York."

"Are you hurt? And what about the others?"

"Napoleon and I are fine, just a few cuts and bruises, but the pilot did not survive the crash."

The woman closed her eyes, grieving the loss of the brave UNCLE pilot. Illya attentively helped her up, his question reflecting concern. "Are you all in one piece?"

Stephanie stood cautiously, heavily leaning on the Russian and testing her limbs. "Yes, I feel fine. Just a few bruises, like you." Then she hugged him tight, whispering in his ear: "God, Illya, I'm so glad you are OK."

He gulped noisily, thinking back at how terrified he was of losing her during the plane crash. But all he could utter was "Same here."

Napoleon's voice called out: "Sorry to interrupt your effusions, but we should get a move on. The fire squad and the police will arrive soon, and I don't want anybody to know that we are here, not even the authorities." The Russian glumly agreed with his friend. "Yes, we can trust no one. This affair is getting out of control. They – whoever _they_ are – are ruthless and won't hesitate to leave a trail of corpses to get their hands on that blasted vial."

Stephanie spoke up. "I suggest we hide in the forest and wait for the rescue vehicles to arrive. They will have the town's name printed on the sides, so at least we will know where we are."

Napoleon praised her. "Good thinking, Steph! I'm glad that the crash has not affected your quick mind in the least!"

The woman was elated to receive a compliment from such a legendary former UNCLE agent, but she quickly hid the smug smile that was slowly spreading on her face. She had more pressing matters to deal with right now.

So they all hid in the lush forest, far enough from the crash site not be seen by the rescue party and close enough to read the lettering on the cars.

Less than half an hour later they heard sirens getting closer. Soon five rescue vehicles – two fire squad trucks, two ambulances and a police car – skidded to a halt in front of the crashed plane.

The three hidden survivors squinted to look at the words printed on the vehicles.

"Louis….Louisonville?" asked Napoleon.

"No. Louisville! We're in Kentucky!" Stephanie all but yelled.

Solo cut his eyes toward his friend. "Am I hearing things, or did she just speak with a Southern drawl?"

Kuryakin smiled, remembering that Stephanie was originally from some Southern state. "I think she's already feeling at home."

The woman flashed a cheerful smile at them. "You bet I am, guys! I'm actually a few hundred miles from my hometown, and now I also know where we can find shelter and help!"

Tracing back the rescue vehicles' tracks, they found the main highway to town. They followed it for half a mile, before deciding that they were wasting precious time. They agreed to try and flag down a vehicle and luckily a truck driver soon stopped and agreed to give them a lift to Louisville.

Once in town, Stephanie quickly got her bearings and headed to a very specific direction.

Illya was taken aback by the mobs of people and near chaos that plagued the city, but then he realized that they were probably right in the middle of the Kentucky Derby. All the better: crowd and confusion were always a good protection.

Napoleon was curious and impressed as he observed Stephanie navigate their new environment. "Say, Steph, you seem to know where we are going."

The woman brightened as she explained. "Oh yes, Napoleon, I know exactly where we're going. We are about to pay a visit to an old friend of mine, hoping she still lives at her old address. She will hide and feed us, and if we're lucky she will also help us find somebody who can analyze the vial."

"You used to live here?" Illya was still discovering just who Stephanie was.

She shook her head. "No, but I came here often to visit her. Every year, we used to spend our summer vacation together on the Cumberland Plateau, in Tennessee, where I was born and raised. I still have my family house there."

The Russian smiled at that. "So, you're from Tennessee. I've always wondered."

"But you've never asked." She scolded him affectionately.

Illya took up a defensive stance. "You know I don't like to pry. And I know better than to ask a spy about her background."

Stephanie's smile disappeared. "I thought I was something more than just 'a spy' to you."

Belatedly, Kuryakin realized his mistake. He was about to apologize, but Napoleon interjected. "Quit bickering, you too. What is this, your first argument?"

Illya and Stephanie looked at each other, suddenly realizing that Napoleon was right; it was indeed their first argument. They both silently agreed to let the subject drop for the moment, and to resume it at a later, more appropriate time.

In the meantime they had reached their destination. A quaint-looking condominium not far from the downtown area, which was in the middle of a huge restoration project.

Stephanie announced their arrival. "Here we are. We have to climbto the third floor, no elevator. I just hope she's home."

Up to the third floor they climbed, each lost in their own thoughts.

When Stephanie stopped in front of a closed door with the name "M. VanMeter" printed on the bell sign, she rang the bell. No response. After a few seconds she rang again, longer, on the brink of desperation. She mumbled: "Com'on, Maureen, you've got to be home."

A muffled voice with a strong Southern drawl came from inside the apartment. "I'm coming, I'm coming, what's the big hurry?" The woman who opened the door was 5'4'', with reddish brown hair and brown eyes, and she was fairly thin but curvy. Napoleon didn't miss that she was quite attractive, too. When the woman saw Stephanie, she stood transfixed for a good two seconds, then she boomed: "Stephanie? Is it really you? Oh my Lord, I can't believe my own eyes!" Then she crushed the smiling UNCLE agent in a bear hug.

Stephanie was laughing as she spoke to her old friend. "God, Maureen, it's so nice to see you! It's been such a long time! You haven't changed a bit!"

Maureen tried to keep her eyes on the other woman but she was impressed by the two men she had with her. "Well, _you_ have changed, Steph: you look much more... how shall I say... self-confident. And you're in very good company, too!"

Stephanie proceed to introduce everyone. "Maureen, meet my two friends Illya and Napoleon. Guys, this is Maureen VanMeter, an old friend from college **.** "

Illya nodded his head and spoke, the accent something Maureen had never heard before. "How do you do, Miss VanMeter?" "My goodness, you are one solemn fella, aren't you? Please call me Maureen."

When it was Solo's turn to introduce himself he bowed and gallantly kissed her hand, planting his warm chocolate eyes in hersand letting his deep baritone infuse his words. "So very pleased to meet you, Maureen."

The woman could not hide a shiver of pleasure at Napoleon's dashing introduction, and replied with an equally sultry intonation. "The pleasure is all mine, Napoleon."

Stephanie laughed, thinking back at her own same reaction the first time she met Napoleon. "Maureen, I'm sorry to stormback into your life without warning, but we are in a very difficult situation and we need your help."

Maureen led the way into her apartment. "OK, Steph, you and your friends have a seat while I fix coffee, then you'll tell me what you need. I'll do all I can."

Soon Stephanie brought Maureen up to speed on her life, telling her about her job at UNCLE and summing up the last two days' events. Listening in awe, Maureen forgot to sip her coffee, and when her friend's relation was over, she exclaimed: "Oh my! You have kept yourself pretty busy since you left college, haven't you? Now I understand a lot of things, especially why you have always been so vague about your life whenever we talked on the phone."

Stephanie nodded. "Yes. I couldn't tell you anything at all; corporate policy. I'm sorry, Maureen."

"Don't be. I totally understand. Oh, your life must be is so exciting!"

"Sometimes it is, but mostly it's just dangerous. And if it weren't for Illya, it would have been over five months ago. Twice."

Maureen looked at the Russian with gratitude. "Well then blondie, thank you for saving my old friend's life." Then with a wink she asked a question he hadn't expected. "Are you her beau?"

Kuryakin was taken aback. "Why, yes. How did you know?"

She flashed him a knowing smile. "I can tell from the way you two look at each other. It's pretty hard to miss, actually."

Then she straightened up on the armchair, grimaced at her cold coffee. "All right, y'all, what do you need me to do?"

It was Napoleon's turn to explain. "Well, you see, Maureen, we are stranded here in Kentucky, so we need your hospitality for a couple of days, and we also need to have a certain vial examined by a chemical lab. Unofficially. No names, no questions asked. Do you think you can help us accomplish that?"

She pondered. "Yes, I think so. I do know a guy who works at a pharmaceutical lab, and he owes me a favor. As for the hospitality, I will be happy to have you as my guests, but it will get pretty cozy; as you can see, my place is quite small."

Napoleon answered, winking flirtatiously. "I don't mind a little coziness."

Kuryakin rolled his eyes at his friend's comment, marveling for the umpteenth time at how his charms never failed to impress women. "I propose we have lunch first, then we all go pay a visit to your chemist friend."

Stephanie, her own stomach rumbling at the suggestion, promptly stood up, speaking as she did so. "I agree! I volunteer to go buy lunch at the deli I saw at the corner. Be back in a flash!" And she was gone in a swishof coppery hair.

Solo commented: "Boy, your lady friend must have an appetite as voracious as yours!" Then he turned to Maureen. "Say, Maureen, how was Stephanie when you were in college?"

The woman started telling about her college friend, and the two men listened avidly. "She's always been very intelligent, a quick learner, but she was kind of aloof. She didn't care for friends or boyfriends; all she cared about was studying to get out of college as fast as she could. She wanted to serve in the army, but I can see that she changed her mind."

Illya knew a little about her desire to serve. "UNCLE's recruitment squad is always in search of young eligible subjects in universities. She probably was enrolled even before she got her degree."

Suddenly Maureen got up from her armchair and went to the door. "Darn, I forgot to lock the door after Stephanie. This neighborhood isn't very safe anymore. I'm actually planning to move to California. I'm leaving in a couple of... Whoa!"

While she was reaching for the lock, the door slammed open, hitting her arm. Three armed men swiftly entered the apartment. One of them unceremoniously grabbed Maureen's injured arm, leveled his gun at her head, and barked out orders. "Nobody move, or I'll scatter the pretty lady's brains all over the room!"

Solo and Kuryakin had no choice but to raise their hands, fuming at how easily they had been discovered and subdued.

Illya growled his resentment. "What do you want?"

The man threatening Maureen had a wicked smirk on his face. "You know very well what we want, but we happen to know that you don't have it. We will wait for the other lady to show up. And you will not utter a word, 'cause my gun is not going to move away from this head until the vial is safely in my hands."

Napoleon made an effort to be chivalrous. "Leave her alone. You can take me instead. I will cooperate."

"Forget it, pal. You will cooperate much better from where you are."

Time stopped for about five minutes while they waited for Stephanie to come back. None of the people in the room let out a sound. When they heard three knocks at the door, they all froze. Maureen's assailant slowly opened the door from behind, but nobody entered the room. Instead, they clearly heard Stephanie running away from the apartment. The man motioned one of his accomplices to go after her. Maureen took advantage of her assailant's moment of distraction and kneeled him in the groin, effectively knocking him out.

Solo and Kuryakin jumped at the chance and quickly engaged the remaining man who, after a short fight, joined his boss on the ground, letting his two opponents grab his gun in the process.

Illya ran after the third man outside the apartment, but he stopped short after a couple of steps; Stephanie was kneeling over the supine body of her pursuer, leveling his own gun at his head.

He grinned at her. "I really don't know why I bothered to worry for your safety. How did you know you were not to enter the apartment? And how did you get the better of him so fast? We all heard you running away."

She smiled back, and answered Illya's questions while she tied the man' hands behind his back with his own belt.

"Maureen and I used to have a secret code in college: whenever one of us knocked in a certain way - two knocks, pause, one knock - the other had to knock back before we could open the door. That way we always knew we could enter the apartment without... ehm... interrupting in the event of a visiting boyfriend. As for me running away, I just stomped on the floor to fool whoever was inside, waiting for me." She pointed her chin at the lyingman. "He wasn't expecting me to ambush him right outside the door. He never had a chance."

Grabbing and lifting the man from the ground, they reached the others inside the apartment. Solo and Maureen had already tied and searched the other two men.

Kuryakin asked if anything useful had been found.

Solo shook his head. "Nope. Their pockets are emptier than my bank account **.** I guess we will have to ask them a few questions."

One of the men snickered. "If you expect us to answer, well don't hold your breath."

Illya flashed a wicked smile at him. "Thank you for the suggestion. Why don't you come with me into the bathroom? I'm going to show you how to _really_ hold your breath." He grabbed him by the arm and roughly dragged him throughthe bathroom door, while the man's self-assured expression wavered.

The Russian closed the door, and soon everybody else could hear running water, followed by a moment of silence, and finally the man's clearly frightened voice. "Wait! What...?" Then they heard some very ominousgurgling sounds, which went on for a good five minutes.

Then there was silence again. Maureen could not resist expressing her curiosity aloud. "What do you think is going on in there?"

Napoleon answered, unperturbed: "Either the man's dead, or he's chirping like a bird!"

After a few minutes, the door abruptly swung open, and Illya dragged an unresistingbody outside the bathroom and into the bedroom, his words delivered in a nonchalant manner. "This one is dead. Next!"

Napoleon grabbed the boss and shoved him into the bathroom, while the man paled visibly and gulped loudly.

The door was slammed shut again, and the same noises as before could be heard. Only this time they were followed by the man's frightened voice. "All right, all right! I'll tell you what you want to know. Just stop it, for God's sake!"

When they got out of the bathroom, the man's head was drenched, and he was obviously recovering from a serious lack of oxygen. Illya motioned him to sit down. "Well? I'm waiting. Who sent you and how did you track us down to this place? How did you know we had the 'item'?"

The man shook his head. "I don't know his real name. He calls himself 'The Director'. He gives his instructions by phone. He can access some kind of database like Miss VanMeter'name and address."

Stephanie was stunned by that bit of information. "My God. He knew about my friendship with Maureen. He must have gotten into some very classified files. You need governmental access to dig that deep."

Napoleon suggested: "Or very good connections."

Illya continued his interrogation. "You haven't answered my last question."

The man looked at him defiantly and didn't answer.

The Russian smiled his lopsided smile again. "Oh, I can see you hair is still dirty. Let's have another shampoo, shall we?"

That stirreda reaction. "No, wait! All right, all right. We followed you from the hotel to the airport, and we saw you give the 'item' to the lady."

Stephanie protested at that. "No way! You were not at the airport, I'm positive about that!"

"We were not physically there, but we were watching a live video filmed from a portable microcamera hidden on the lapel of one of our men's jacket."

"So you also sabotaged the aircraft, right?"

The man nodded at Kuryakin's question. "How do you get in touch with this Director?"

"We don't. He's always the one calling us."

At this point Napoleon joined in. "A very cautious fellow. Well connected and with access to classified files, sophisticated electronic devices and a lot of willing helpers. In a word, dangerous."

The Russian nodded. "Yes. And I'm pretty sure he already knows that his men have failed their mission." Then he added, with a sideways mocking glance at the man he was interrogating: "Help me gag these gentlemen and lock them in the bedroom to keep their _unconscious_ friend company."

Once the three men were safely tucked awayin the bedroom, Illya said what they were all thinking. "We must leave this place at once, Napoleon, we cannot afford to stay in Louisville any longer."

Solo agreed. "Yes. And Maureen must come with us."

The woman was flabbergasted. "Me? Where?"

"To New York."

"What? New York?"

"Think about it, Maureen. They know who you are and where you live, and they will think that you know where we're heading. They will get you in no time and interrogate - or torture - you to get their answers."

Maureen staggered at this development. "But... I was about to leave for California."

Stephanie tried to convince her friend. "Well, you will eventually go there, you're just taking the longer route! Think of the adventure."

"Some adventure! Travelling half the country chased by a bunch of loonies!"

Solo looked at her with soft, pleading brown eyes. "Please, Maureen. We cannot leave you here, nor can we let you travel to California all alone. They will track you down so fast you won't know what hit you. Furthermore, I would very much enjoy your company; these two can only stare ateach other's eyes all the time or bicker like an old married couple!"

Illya smiled, recognizing his friend's maneuver and knowing that the woman would give up on the count of three.He counted in his mind: 'One, two...'

"All right, I'll come with you. But only because I want to help you protect Stephanie."

Napoleon flashed her a grateful smile. "Thank you. Now, the problem is that we cannot take a plane; our names would immediately raise a red flag in the wrong place. And I'm sure they're patrolling Greyhound and train stations. So we need an alternative means of transportation. One that is not registered in your name."

Maureen smiled. "That won't be a problem. I was about to borrow my old aunt's car. She is getting too old to drive. And she's got a different last name, so no way they can trace her back to me. It's not even parked outside. I was going to pick it up tomorrow at my aunt's."

Stephanie had to smile at that news. "Great. You'll just leave a little earlier than expected. Grab a little luggage and let's get out of here."

Illya remembered why Stephanie had left earlier, his stomach now reminding him of his need for food. "Let's also grab the lunch you bought. Or have those thugs spoiled it?"

Stephanie proudly produced an unscathedbag. "No way! I was ready to protect it with my own life!"

Rolling his eyes, Napoleon muttered in an aside to Maureen. "Birds of a feather..."


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Looking quite rummy, the two men and the two women weretravelling on an outdated '54 Oldsmobile. Kuryakin, who volunteered to take the wheel, had done nothing but complain since he first set his incredulous eyes on the old car, while Napoleon was enjoying the ride.

"Come one, Illya, stop whining. This is a beautiful historical vehicle. Very comfy and quite roomy." Solo was enjoying the feeling of being able to stretch his long legs in the passenger's seat.

But the Russian remained unconvinced. "Too bad it's also slower than my grandpa's wheelchair!"

Napoleon complained: "Oh, you're just too grumpy. Stephanie, why don't you join your sweetheart in the front seat, and let me enjoy a more pleasurable company?"

Stephanie, who was cheerfully keeping up to datewith her old friend on the back seat, laughed at that. "Sure, Napoleon. I know how to cheer him up!"

Solo snickered. "I'm sure you do; your charms are much more appealing than mine!"

"That's for sure", muttered his Russian friend.

Napoleon and Stephanie switched places. Solo grinned at his new seat partner. "So, Maureen, tell me a little about yourself."

While her friend was talking, Stephanie whispered in Illya's ear: "Do think your grumpiness was just an excuse to seat next to Maureen?"

Kuryakin nodded and whispered back. "I'm sure it was. He's always been quite the ladies man. But he will also help her relax and not think about her predicament."

"What is your plan, Illya?"

"I want to keep driving. We cannot afford to stop at a motel, not until we are at least a few hundred miles from Louisville. And neither can we afford to take the straight route; maybe we should go through Virginia and Washington D.C. and avoid the main thoroughfares. We will take turns at driving. Too bad it will take us forever with this wheeled dinosaur!"

They managed to drive for two days, stopping only at gas stations to fill the tank and to eat a bite, but on the evening of the second day they all agreed they needed a night's rest. They stopped at a very anonymous-looking motel, where they asked for a room for four, paid cash and registered under false names.

Always the gentlemen, the two men proposed to share a double bed, while the women were to share the other. Before going to bed, though, Illya pulled a nylon string out of a bag of items he bought at the last gas station, unwoundit in front of the door, and fastened the two extremities at the opposite walls at ankle's height. Only after taking that precaution he wished his companions good night.

A loud crash in the middle of the night abruptly woke everybody in the room. Maureen could not suppress a shriek of fear, while Stephanie swiftly extracted from below the pillow one of the guns she took from the thugs in Louisville.

After briefly fumbling with the switch she managed to turn the light on, and she could see that the weapon was, after all, unnecessary; Illya was already leveling his own gun at the man who had sneaked inside by picking the door's lock, and who had fallen into the Russian's booby trap head first.

The blond was unperturbed. "Did you really think we are that easy to catch? Think again, _tovarish_!" He motioned the man to stand up and to stay away from his weapon, which turned out to be a silenced gun.

Solo, still sleepy-eyed, mumbled: "He really meant business, didn't he? The son of a bitch would have shot us all down in less than thirty seconds. Good catch, Illya!"

Maureen was still dazed. "How could you react so fast, Illya?"

The Russian, still glowering athis opponent, answered: "I was keeping watch, Maureen. Napoleon and I were taking turns."

Stephanie commented: "He would deserve the same treatment he had in mind for us."

A frightened look escaped the man's eyes at her cold tone.

Napoleon said: "Indeed he would, Stephanie, but since we are not cold-blooded assassins like him, I guess we will just make sure he will do no harm for the next few hours." Then he proceeded to thoroughly tie and gag the man.

The four friends had no choice but to hastily dress and leave the motel, locking their undesired visitor in the bathroom.

They had slept less than four hours, but they did not complain; they knew that their pursuers had a way to track them down anytime they stopped, so they hit the road again. Stephanie volunteered to take the wheel, since the two men had actually slept half the time the women had, and she wanted to give Illya and Napoleon the chance to at least doze off in the car.

At 6:00 am they left New Jersey and entered the state of New York. Both the car and its passengers needed fuel, in the form of gas for the former and of coffee for the latter, so they all agreed to stop at a gas station. The women took the chance to visit the lady's room, while the men took care of gas and coffee.

When Illya and Napoleon joined up after having carried out their tasks, they failed to see the women.

Solo was not worried yet. "They 're probably taking their time in the lady's room. You know how girls are."

But Kuryakin had a nagging feeling. "No, Napoleon. Don't forget that Stephanie is not just the next girl, she's an experienced UNCLE agent. She knows better than to linger in a restroom."

Solo frowned. "You're right, Illya. Maybe we should check."

They both approached the lady's room silently, their guns drawn. Illya discretely knocked at the door. No answer. Without hesitation, the two men entered the room and started searching all the booths. The last one was locked. Napoleon knocked the door down with his shoulder.

Maureen was there, tied and gagged, looking none for the worse but very scared.

When the two men released her, she panted: "They took Stephanie!"

The Russian uttered his question in a very cold voice. "Who did?"

"I don't know, they were not the same thugs from my place. There were three of them. They threatened to kill me. Stephanie never had a chance."

Without another word, Illya turned around and sprinted toward the pumps area, where an unsuspecting biker was fuelling his powerful motorbike. Napoleon merely muttered: "Uh oh. Let's go!", grabbing Maureen's hand and virtually dragging her to their car.

The Russian unceremoniously pulled the biker away from his vehicle and straddled the big motorbike, igniting the engine and opening the throttle wide. The motorbike reared and quickly disappeared from view, leaving its stunned owner looking at the empty road uncomprehendingly.

Napoleon flattened the pedal of the old car, getting a mild reaction. For the first time, he cursed the Oldsmobile's unresponsive engine, and did his best to follow his partner's rapidly disappearing silhouette.

Maureen was still recovering from the previous scare. "What's he doing, speeding like a haunted man?"

"He _is_ a haunted man, Maureen. He's looking inside all the cars he's passing on the road."

"But even if he finds them, how does he hope to stop them?"

Napoleon frowned. "I'm afraid I know how he plans to do that. And I'm sure his plan does not contemplate his own safety."

While Napoleon was worrying for him, Illya was indeed looking inside all the cars he was passing at lightning speed.

Less than five minutes later he found what he was looking for. He was about to pass a speeding black sedan, and through the rear window he could see three men and a woman inside. The coppery hair was unmistakable: Stephanie.

They were not expecting a biker, so they let him pass their car. When he sped in front of it, the Russian hit the rear brake, hard. The motorbike reacted by blocking the rear wheel and by making a half turn, leaving a rubber mark on the asphalt and virtually obstructing the lane. Before the car's driver had a chance to change lane, Illya extracted a gun and emptied the charger at the car's front wheels. He never moved from where he stood, and when the car was at a few feet from him he could see Stephanie's horrified eyes. She knew that the car, out of control, was about to hit him.

But, with both its front tires flat, the vehicle skidded on the road and narrowly missed the unmoving blond. It was his turn now to watch in horror as the car overturned wildly, and finally stopped upside down against the side of the road. When Kuryakin approached it, fearing the worst, he could see movement inside. One of the man extricated himself out of the battered vehicle, aiming his gun at another long-haired figure who was laboriously trying to get out from the rear window.

With a sigh of relief, Illya could see that Stephanie was bruised, but otherwise unharmed. But the man was still targeting her with his gun. His own gun now empty, he could only watch powerlessly. He growled: "Lower that gun. We're not going to stop you. You want to go? Well then, go. I don't care, as long as you don't hurt her."

Stephanie could not believe her own ears. "Illya, are you out of your mind? He's got the vial! You can't let him go!"

The Russian looked at her with a strange look in the blue, thunderous eyes. "I don't care. I just want you to be safe. Get away from here, Stephanie. Go meet Napoleon, he's coming on the car."

The woman started to argue, but he barked: "Just do as I say, Steph. Go. Now!"

The UNCLE agent, taken aback by the Russian's strangely brusque behavior, complied.

Then Kuryakin pointed his finger at his motorbike, telling the man: "You can take my bike. Just get out of here as fast as you can, and make sure you do not cross my path again."

The man, not challenging his luck, straddled the bike and quickly disappeared from view. The Russian looked into the car to see if the other two men had survived, but they had both been killed in the terrible crash.

Meanwhile the Oldsmobile finally made it to the place of the accident, its worn-out engine panting loudly from the effort. Napoleon jumped out of the vehicle and approached his friend.

"Illya? Are you all right?"

The blond just nodded, still looking at the mangled car, unable to take his mind away from the thought that Stephanie could have been one of the corpses inside.

Napoleon kept questioning his friend. "Why did you let the man leave with the vial, Illya?"

That stirred a reaction, at last. With a lop-sided grin, the Russian said: "Simply because that vial just contains whiskey, Napoleon. And a very bad one at that."

Solo smiled, and commented dryly: "Have I ever told you how sneaky you are?"

Smiling back, the Russian answered: "Yes, _tovarish_ , often times."


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

While the Oldsmobile was stuck in the thick traffic of New York's rush hour, Maureen could not suppress a question she had been mulling over for quite a while. "I still don't understand what happened". Hers were the first words that were uttered after the accident.

Illya offered an explanation. "See, Maureen, the real vial has always been safely tucked in my pocket. Stephanie only had a fake, although she didn't know it. She had to be convincing enough for them to try and get it from her and not from me." Then he turned towards Stephanie, with an apologetic look in the blue eyes. "When I stopped at the airport's duty free shop, I just bought a small bottle of whiskey, poured it in a new empty vial, and delivered it to you. I had to make sure they thought you had the real item."

Stephanie's look was, by contrast, blank. "So you used me as bait."

The Russian looked away from her. "Yes. I'm sorry, Steph."

"Don't be. You did what you had to do. For all we know, the original vial can very well contain a lethal bacteriological weapon, so its safety was your top priority."

The Russian just nodded, still unable to look at her.

But then she added: "Either that, or you thought that I wasn't dependable enough to carry the real thing."

Before Illya had a chance to protest, Napoleon intervened: "Excuse me for meddling in your discussion, but I really don't think that is the case, Stephanie. I think I know what Illya had in mind; he was hoping to keep you safe by holding the only thing that he could bargain in case they snatched you away. His _real_ top priority was you, not the vial." Then he added a remark, glowering at his partner. "Against all better judgment, I must add."

Maureen could not help but run to the Russian's aid. "Hey, what's gotten into you guys? Can't you see that Illya was trying to save _both_ the world _and_ his girlfriend? Do you think that is an easy task? Boy, he had more chances to win the national lottery! Yet he made it, and none of you has said a word of praise. All you can do is question his methods. Well, you should look at the results instead." After her tirade, she crossed her arms and glared at Napoleon and Stephanie.

The two looked at each other with a guilty expression, realizing that Maureen – who wasn't in the espionage business and who just considered the actual consequences – was right. Illya _had_ saved the vial and Stephanie, and – depending on the vial's contents – possibly the world. Questioning his methods was, at this point, only trivial.

Napoleon looked abashed. "I think she's right, chum. We owe you."

Stephanie self-consciously looked at the blond. "I'm sorry, Illya, I might have been a little too harsh on you."

The Russian just looked at them with an unfathomable look, secretly enjoying their embarrassment.

In the meantime they had reached UNCLE headquarters and hastily dismounted the car, still not letting their guard down. Before they had a chance to enter the building, they were met by a squad of three men clad in black suits and sporting UNCLE's security badge on their jackets.

One of the men smiled at them. "Please follow us. We've been instructed to bring you to a safe location to have the vial analyzed."

Stephanie asked: "Why aren't we using the HQ's lab facilities?"

"For containment reasons. We could be dealing with a mass destruction weapon."

She still looked suspicious. "You don't mind my checking your credentials, do you?"

The man's friendly smile never wavered. "As a matter of fact, we do". He swiftly extracted a silenced gun and leveled it at Maureen's head. The woman muttered: "Oh come on, not again!"

Another man prodded Illya's back with his gun, whispering in his ear: "Follow us, please, Mr. Kuryakin." The third man was already targeting Napoleon's chest.

The Russian had no choice but to let the men shove him into a black car, and his friends could only watch helplessly while the car sped away with squealing tires. The whole operation lasted less than thirty seconds.

Moving as one, both Napoleon and Stephanie jumped back into their Oldsmobile, barely waiting for Maureen to join them. They immediately took pursuit.

Clenching his teeth and slamming his palm against the wheel, Solo growled: "Damn! Now they got Illya _and_ the real vial! And me thinking that the whole affair was over!"

Stephanie's voice was trembling. "He will put up a terrible fight to protect the vial. They're going to kill him. Oh, why does he always, always take the brunt of my missions?"

Napoleon tried to comfort the distraught woman. "Illya has a way of getting out of desperate situations alive, if not unscathed. I'm sure he will be OK. Eventually."

Stephanie mumbled: "I don't feel I can share your optimism."

With a small grin, he said: "That's because you haven't spent 15 years of active service with him. He's a surprisingly resourceful fella, my little Russian friend. You'll see."

They got into visual contact with the black car in time to see one of the back doors swinging open and an unresisting body being unceremoniously thrown out of the vehicle. The following drivers were forced to pump on the brakes and skid laterally to avoid running over the body slumped on the road.

Terror-stricken, Stephanie yelled: "Oh my God, Illya! No!"

They came to a screeching halt beside the Russian's unmoving form.

When Stephanie and Napoleon gloomily inspected him, they were not expecting a pulse, but Kuryakin's heart was beating reassuringly, albeit erratically. Then Solo noticed a tiny dart sticking out of his left thigh. He immediately extracted it and showed it to Stephanie. "I think they just drugged him." Then he tucked it away in his pocket.

The woman reacted rapidly. "Let's bring him back to UNCLE's headquarters. They will take care of him and will analyze the dart to find an antidote to whatever it contained."

So they gently and laboriously loaded the Russian into the Oldsmobile and sped back to UNCLE.

Four people were gathered around the blond laying on one of UNCLE's ER beds. Napoleon Solo, frowning, was staring at his unconscious friend. Maureen was sitting on a chair, looking somewhat lost. Stephanie was holding Illya's hand and was looking worriedly at his serene, handsome face. Sir John Raleigh was leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed, contemplating the whole picture.

He had just finished listening to his agent's report. He didn't bother to hide his disappointment. "Well, I guess this is it. Mr. Kuryakin is luckily still among us, but he was the one holding the real vial."

From her chair in the corner, Maureen said, in a small voice: "No, he wasn't."

Three pairs of bewildered eyes turned to look at her.

The woman slowly produced a small vial from her purse. "He knew they would catch him eventually. He gave it to me back in Kentucky when we stopped at the first gas station and you two were sleeping in the car. He figured they would consider me as a very unlikely carrier, not being a spy and all that."

Stephanie was staggered. "But… but you said you didn't understand what happened when I was apprehended."

"Illya instructed me so. He thought that maybe the car was bugged."

Napoleon echoed: "Bugged?"

"Think about it, _tovarish_ ", a coarse voice uttered from the bed.

They all turned again to look at the Russian, now conscious and struggling to raise his back from the bed. Stephanie was overjoyed. "Illya! You're awake!"

Kuryakin's head was spinning wildly, and he promptly stopped his attempts at rising. "Yes, although I wish I were still unconscious. My head is splitting in two."

Napoleon prompted him to continue. "So you think the Oldsmobile was bugged?"

"Well, it's the only logical explanation for them being able to always know where we were, don't you think? They could hear everything we were saying. Sir John, why don't you have the car's cabin thoroughly searched? I'm sure you will find a tiny little bug hidden in some remote place."

The Brit answered, smiling: "I most certainly will, Mr. Kuryakin. I must congratulate you on your ingenious solution for the vial. I also would never have suspected Miss VanMeter had it." He carefully took it from Maureen's slightly trembling hand and promptly pocketed it. "I will have it analyzed immediately by our biological lab." He left without further ado.

Stephanie stroked Illya's hair. "How are you feeling, honey?"

The Russian grimaced. "I feel quite nauseated. Very funny feeling. Reminds me of…. _bozhe moi_!" He tensed and raised his back again from the bed, immediately regretting the sudden move, which sent pangs of pain to his head.

Solo, alarmed by his friend's distressed tone, prompted him: "What does it remind you of, Illya?"

His baby blue eyes wide open, the blond said: "It reminds me the way I used to feel whenever I woke up after being drugged by… Thrush!"

Three different voices uttered in unison: "What?"

While Stephanie succinctly explained to Maureen that Thrush was not a bird but an organization that used to be UNCLE's worst enemy a long time ago, Napoleon tried to reassure his friend. "Come on, chum, you know that's impossible. Thrush has disappeared many years ago and has never been restored since."

The Russian relaxed and slowly leaned his head back on the pillow, sighing. "I guess you're right, Napoleon, although I could have sworn…"

He was interrupted by a lab technician hastily entering the room, with a somewhat alarmed look in his dark eyes. "Sorry to disturb you, Miss Rogers, but the contents of the dart that knocked down Mr. Kuryakin have been analyzed. This is all very strange."

Stephanie tried to calm down the man. "Take it easy, Donovan. What seems to be the problem?"

"You see, the dart was filled with a drug that was already in our files. Our system immediately recognized it as frequently used in the past by… Thrush."

The same chorus of "What?" burst out again, followed by a more subdued "Told you" coming from the bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Sir Raleigh's office was somewhat crowded that morning, and the noise level was almost out of scale; Stephanie, Solo, Kuryakin, Maureen and two lab technicians were all talking at once.

The Brit's voice suddenly boomed over that brouhaha: "ENOUGH!"

The sudden silence allowed him to return to a normal voice level. "That's better. Sorry to interrupt your, ah, rather animated discussions, but I'm afraid they are getting us nowhere. What I want to do now is analyze the situation rationally, although I can appreciate the fact that you are all worried by the recent and unexpected turn of events."

One of the technicians, his face red, said: "But, sir, the vial's contents turned out to be a highly concentrated lethal poison. Its formula is totally new, so that means that Thrush is not only back in operation, but that it also has highly equipped chemical facilities."

"I realize that, Donovan, but I don't think that raising your heart pressure is going to help solve the problem."

The man's face turned almost purple, but he wisely decided to follow his superior's advice and promptly sat down and tried to relax.

Stephanie decided it was the right moment to contribute with her opinion. "Sir, we are not positive that Thrush is involved."

At that, Kuryakin jumped from his chair like a tensioned spring. "What do you mean, we are not positive? Of course we are, the stuff they used to drug me is their trademark."

Solo interjected: "That only proves that they were trying to get their hands on the poison, not that they actually created it."

The Russian shook his head. "It proves that they are involved, and that's more than enough for me to suspect that they have also formulated the poison."

Sir John was forced to quench another escalating argument. "Gentlemen, please. I want facts, not suppositions." He turned to the other lab technician: "Brad, kindly enumerate what we know so far."

The man counted on his fingers. "First, the drug contained in Mr. Kuryakin's dart is Thrush, _ergo_ the men who tried to abduct Mr. Kuryakin and seize the vial are Thrush. Second, the vial contains a deadly chemical poison based on a brand-new formula. Third, it would indeed require a complex and undoubtedly expensive chemical lab to devise such a formula. Fourth, we know of at least three other international organizations which could afford such a lab. Fifth, that does not exclude that Thrush is among such organizations. Conclusion: since they tried to get hold of the vial so desperately, it means that it was the only available sample and that, for some reason, they probably don't possess the formula anymore and therefore cannot replicate it. Suggestion: destroy the poison and the formula, and do not exclude the possibility that Thrush is actually back in operation."

Solo whispered in Kuryakin's ear: "The way that young fellow speaks reminds me of you. The two of you must be remotely related."

Sir John overheard the comment. "You don't agree with Brad's analysis, Mr. Solo?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, Sir John, your 'Mr. Spock' here has not considered another quite important factor."

"And what might that be?"

"If Thrush was not the actual creator of the formula, they might have thought that getting their hands on the sample was the easiest way to steal it from competition. Which leads us…"

Stephanie finished his sentence "… to the possibility that another organization has actually created it and still owns the formula. My God. We're back to square one."

Illya mumbled: "Indeed. Not a very attractive prospect."

UNCLE's chief rose from his chair with a very somber expression. "Well, Miss Rogers, I do hope you have fully recovered, because your next mission will involve the search of such an organization."

Kuryakin didn't give her the time to answer. "Wait a minute. She hasn't even finished her vacation, thanks to your brilliant idea of asking her to take care of that package delivery."

Stephanie put a comforting hand on the Russian's arm. "Illya, please, calm down. I want this mission."

He looked at her, dumbstruck. "You do?"

"Of course. Don't you understand? This is my life, this is what I like to do. This is what I _want_ to do. I'm sure you've been through this before yourself."

The Russian was staggered. "But… but I thought you wanted to relax for a while."

She shook her pretty head. "No. I relaxed long enough. Inactivity is not for me. I'm sorry, Illya, I really loved spending time with you, but now I need to get back to work."

He pouted. "This means we are not going to see each other again for a long time."

"Not necessarily," Sir John interjected. "I was thinking that maybe you and Mr. Solo would like to see this through. I'm sure that Miss Rogers could use some help, since she doesn't have a partner anymore."

She beamed. "Oh wow! Illya and Napoleon as my two partners? I couldn't ask for more!"

Solo elbowed his friend. "What do you think, chum? Shall we help the damsel in distress? Like the old days?"

The Russian was unsuccessfully trying to hide the smug smile that was slowing spreading on his face.

"Might as well."

Stephanie grumbled: "Hey, don't sound so enthusiastic, mister!" She then grabbed his forearm and dragged him outside the room, playfully slapping his arm.

Solo, looking complacent, delicately took Maureen's arm and slowly guided her outside, too. "Well, Maureen, it looks like we have a little time before the new mission starts. How would you like a guided tour of the Big Apple?"

The woman beamed at him. "Oh, Napoleon, I would love it! But… how about lunch first?"

"Jeez, I think you spent too much time with that ravenous Russian. Lunch it is, then." Then he added, waiving at UNCLE's chief: "See you, Sir John. You know where to find me."

Sir John, finally alone in his office, smiled and uttered, sotto voce: "Indeed, Mr. Solo. Indeed."

 **THE END**


End file.
